


Fight Me

by EmmaLockWrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Eventual Smut, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, John Watson - Freeform, John is a trash can, John is happy to oblige oh golly, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock needs some loving, Slight Army Kink, Sparring, Top John, actually I was so anxious to write it, golly gee I hate tagging, mild violence, read it and enjoy you motherfuckers, some violence but not very graphic, they punch each other, to fight or not to fight?, who will come out on top?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaLockWrites/pseuds/EmmaLockWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An invitation to brush up on hand-to-hand combat has unexpected consequences. In other words, John and Sherlock confess their pent up mutual attraction while beating the shit out of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fight Me

**Author's Note:**

> “Something distracting you, Watson?” Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth as yet another punch was blocked to the side by the simple flick of John’s wrist. John couldn’t help being mesmerized by the beads of sweat that fell down Sherlock’s chest, made his biceps glisten, and caused his luscious curls stick to his forehead. Sherlock looked absolutely gorgeous even in the midst of a fight.
> 
> “Well, I can’t help it, can I? You are the one who decided to take your shirt off, which, I’ll say, was quite unfair,” John shot back along with a roundhouse punch to the right-

“John, I truly believe this is unnecessary,” Sherlock stated flatly as John stood in front of him in the kitchen of their shared flat. The detective was sitting at the counter looking into his microscope, wearing pajamas he had not changed out of for three days.

“Sharpening your hand-to-hand combat skills is important Sherlock,” John argued back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Anything could happen.”

Sherlock, uninterested, clicked his tongue and gave a half-hearted sigh. John was right, of course; he was indeed rusty when it came to physical fighting, but he feared what could potentially ensue if he fought his smaller flatmate. Trying to hide his increasing physical and romantic attraction would become extremely difficult if John pinned him, or if he pinned John, for that matter.

The consulting detective tilted his head to the side slightly, giving John a calculating stare. In truth, Sherlock didn’t know if he could beat the army doctor. John had brought him down in that ally once during the Irene Adler case, but that was when the detective had been unprepared. Curiosity of a challenge versus potentially exposing himself: a difficult decision with only about three seconds to decide.

John stared at Sherlock as he saw the detective’s eyes go into ‘calculating mode.’ He sighed deeply and released his arms so they could hang loosely by his sides. The blogger was wearing a pair of barely used sweatpants and a drugstore brand white tank top, and Sherlock couldn’t help but observe the way John’s chest was exposed against the fabric, along with healthy biceps that Sherlock mentally took a picture of (for data reasons of course). Finally, with a sharp inhale, Sherlock snapped out of his conflicted trance and looked John up and down one more time.

“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt,” Sherlock said with an overdramatic sigh, despite the fact that he was rather excited. He was eager to see what John could do and how well his army skills were maintained by their crime solving. More importantly, those arms were driving Sherlock up the wall with the potential power behind them, even though he knew that power was going to be directed towards incapacitating him.

“Great,” John said like a giddy child. The blond smiled brightly, grabbed Sherlock by the wrist and tugged him towards their living room.

John was simply bored. Sherlock hadn’t accepted a case in about a week, there weren’t any clinic shifts to fill in, and he was absolutely restless. He needed to move, be in action, and get some adrenaline pumping through his veins to take the edge off. Sparring with Sherlock seemed like the perfect solution to his problem, and, of course, he was also curious to know if he could win against the taller man. John was good at hand-to-hand fighting from his days spent in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers; not just required training but matches as well that would take place on military tours. Everyone in his camp wanted to bet on “Machine Gun Watson” or see if they could take his top spot by challenging him in the sandy desert camp. Still, Sherlock was well muscled and considerably bigger than him, and John had no idea if Sherlock had sparring experience.

Still, if he could pin Sherlock, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to feel smug about it.

John let go of Sherlock’s rather small wrist, and it fell limply to the detective’s side. John bent over and pushed the coffee table in front of the sofa around towards the side wall to create a clearer space for them to fight in. Sherlock took note of the muscles in John’s back and arms as he pushed the table, and was torn between physical attraction and the fear of the power behind them. Both were bad options for the consulting detective who had just agreed to whatever awaited him. 

John stood back up to face Sherlock and the taller man mentally calculated ways he could get out of this situation, and fast. 

“You know, John, I think this is completely ridic-” but the end of that sentence was shattered by John’s fist making contact with Sherlock’s nose. A small, surprised sound came from the detective as he staggered back a step due to the force behind John’s tight fist. He brought a pale hand up to his nose and felt a small amount of blood coming out of his left nostril and a cut along the bridge. The shocked and offended look on Sherlock’s face was one John thought he would never see.

“Reflexes, Sherlock, reflexes,” the doctor jeered, playfully waving a finger at him as if he was a teacher scolding his student.

“Did you break it?” Sherlock questioned angrily.

“I’m a doctor. I know how to break a nose if I want to.”

“Did you want to?”

John only smirked at the detective as a reply.

Sherlock’s expression quickly turned to a serious rage, and John knew that an agitated Sherlock was going to be the best one in a fight. The detective shed his blue dressing gown and threw it on the sofa, not breaking his fierce eye contact with John’s playful gaze that just begged him to try and throw a punch.

Overconfident, then, Sherlock deduced just as if John were a criminal opponent on the street.

John was still staring him down as if he were the one meal that could satisfy his appetite, and it was time Sherlock took to the offensive. He wiped the light blood from his nose one more time, wrinkling it a bit out of reflex, and took a sparring stance with his right foot a shoulder length ahead of his left. He placed his fists close to his face, but one was a little more forward by where his right foot had taken stance on the carpet. He noticed a few drops of blood had fallen next to his bare feet.

“Mrs. Hudson is not going to be pleased with blood on the carpet,” Sherlock said, dropping his stance, which then convinced John to drop his ready stance as well.

“Do you think we should mov-”

It was John’s turn for his sentence to be interrupted with a punch, one to the bottom left of his jaw. It came straight up from Sherlock’s side and sent him staggering back towards their shared desk. John brought his hand up to cup his jaw, also poking his tongue around (very distractingly) to search for possible breaks. He chuckled slightly by giving a quick exhale through his nose.

“Don’t let your guard down, John,” Sherlock quipped, imitating the voice and finger scolding John had given him earlier. 

“Funny,” John muttered under his breath. “Really funny.”

Then John was back to Captain John Watson, aiming a quick jab at the lower part of Sherlock’s ribcage. Sherlock blocked it easily, but he did not anticipate the punch to the left side of his face that was then followed quickly by a full punch to the gut. The air was knocked out of Sherlock’s lungs with a force that had him coughing and on his knees. He wrapped his hands around his midsection, wheezing, as John circled around him like a shark.

The blond clicked his tongue and dragged a fingertip from Sherlock’s left shoulder to his right, sending shivers down the fallen man’s spine. John was acting downright seductive to Sherlock, and he couldn’t deduce why; it was infuriating. Was it adrenaline? Reciprocated physical attraction? Testosterone?

The only way to find out was to keep fighting.

Sherlock stood up as soon as John circled back to his front, at the same time hooking his fingers under his light gray t-shirt that hung loosely around him. In a swift movement, it was over his head and on the couch alongside his dressing gown.

Sherlock's abdomen was rather distracting to the experienced fighter, especially the way the muscles rippled as Sherlock stretched his arms upward in an innocent stretch. John licked his bottom lip absentmindedly, and his eyes were met with the sight of an all-knowing smirk plastered on an amused face.

Well, now they both knew.

So the question became who was going down first.

John delivered the first punch with a new kind of energy, but Sherlock directed it away from his face while attempting to deliver his own to John’s side. It was, of course, blocked, and this went on for a considerable amount of time; the sound of flesh striking flesh: sometimes a hand being stopped by a hand or swift lean backwards that resulted in a controlled exhale, or letting it find it’s mark while simultaneously delivering a counter attack.

Among the grunts of physical exertion, there were cocky remarks and huffed out teasings.

“Something distracting you, Watson?” Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth as yet another punch was blocked to the side by the simple flick of John’s wrist. John couldn’t help being mesmerized by the beads of sweat that fell down Sherlock’s chest, made his biceps glisten, and caused his luscious curls stick to his forehead. Sherlock looked absolutely gorgeous even in the midst of a fight.

“Well, I can’t help it, can I? You are the one who decided to take your shirt off, which, I’ll say, was quite unfair,” John shot back along with a roundhouse punch to the right, which Sherlock deflected by grabbing John’s wrist and pulling him forward, consequently switching their spots on the carpet.

“You are the one who wanted to fight!” Sherlock snapped.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect it would get this… intense.”

“The fight?”

“The fight, yes, of course.”

“Wait, John. I thought we were talking about physical attraction now.”

“Jesus, Sherl-”

John calculated a punch towards Sherlock’s left cheekbone, but as it was about to meet its mark, Sherlock leaned back and grabbed John’s fist out of the air. He held it there, suspended in time as everything in the solar system paused for one, small second. John didn’t have time to try and attack Sherlock’s grip before the taller man was crouching down and swiping a long limb under John’s bare feet. The doctor’s face contorted from a look of concentration to one of surprise as he fell on his back with a pained ‘oomf’. All the air that was left in his lungs was promptly pushed out by a pale foot planting itself firmly on his chest, as if the English were discovering Plymouth Rock again.

“Martial arts?” John wheezed as he squirmed under the weight of the muscled body attached to the foot holding him in place.

“Oh, Father insisted,” Sherlock said distastefully, bending over so that he was nearly nose to nose with the fallen soldier. “I trained with the best; the dojo was a second home to me. Shame that you never asked me about it before offering this little… training session. Learned about how to control your opponent's energy, how to blend movement with-”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t learn with Major Sholto in the sands of Afghanistan,” John cut in as he used both of his hands and all of his arm strength to grab Sherlock’s ankle and pull towards his chin. Sherlock crashed to the floor with a loud thud and groaned in more annoyance than pain. John got himself up and stood over his trophy. The normally composed detective was gasping for air and staring up at the ceiling with dilated pupils.

“Wrestling background?” Sherlock questioned while trying to catch the breath that kept running away from his lungs.

“You betcha,” John replied as he smirked down at Sherlock, who returned the face easily. 

“Boys!” interjected the shrill voice of Mrs. Hudson from downstairs. “You’d better not be ruining any furniture! Did someone fall? I heard lots of groaning.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock replied with a crackling baritone voice. “John and I were just… rough housing?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at John, letting his uncertainty show.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson, we are fine,” John chimed in, looking down at Sherlock as if he was once again his last meal on earth.

“Oh, just keep it down, you two,” Mrs. Hudson giggled as she continued to mill about downstairs.

Sherlock groaned again as he made an attempt to stand, but John quickly moved so that he was straddling Sherlock’s lean body, also using his strong arms to pin Sherlock’s in place.

“You, Mr. Holmes, have been pinned,” John said smugly as a goofy grin grew on his face.

“It appears as though I have been,” said Sherlock as he sighed, looking over to see John’s strong hands around his wrists.

The shorter man nodded his head and looked at Sherlock stretched out under him: unfairly attractive face, gorgeous and glistening chest, strong abdomen, and even more that he couldn’t see. Sherlock shifted a bit under the weight of the body above which only made the soldier more aware of the situation the two men were in.

John softened his grip and realized they were both still breathing heavily, despite the physical activity having ended. The army captain released the detective’s small wrists in favor of resting on his elbows right over Sherlock’s face. John softened his gaze along with his whole body, releasing some of the tension he still held in his core as he saw a moment getting closer and closer. 

Sherlock’s eyes were everywhere: on John’s body, on the ceiling, on the door, anywhere but John’s face and the fact that it was still getting closer. His body betrayed him as his hips arched up into where John’s muscled thighs were straddling him. Before he could stop the command, one of Sherlock’s hands gripped one of those very thighs, resting, maybe even pulling John closer. John was so close that Sherlock could feel they were breathing the same air.

John gasped and captured Sherlock’s lips in a final moment of pure relief for the two men who had been fighting with each other, and themselves, about this one thing. This one, world-centering moment that caused Sherlock to kiss back with an urgency that suggested the world might be destroyed in the next two minutes if they stopped anytime soon.

The taller man once again arched his body into John’s as the soldier ran a calloused hand through soft, dark curls that he had always longed to touch from a distance. The detective’s grip tightened on John’s thigh, squeezing closer as affirmation that John was on top of him, kissing him senseless, because he wanted to, and, God, Sherlock didn’t know how long he wanted it, but he definitely wanted it now.

Sherlock moaned shamelessly, as John sucked on his bottom lip and put his other hand in his hair. The shorter man arched his back and kissed Sherlock into the carpet, his tongue sliding with Sherlock’s like a choreographed dance. The normally closed-off thinking “machine” completely lost himself in the kiss, relinquishing control over to his body completely as it merged with John’s.

The smaller man savored the control he had over Sherlock like this, straddling him, dominating the kiss, and making Sherlock let out small gasps whenever John would lightly grind his body into where their pelvises were connected in a blaze of pent up pleasure. The captain tugged at Sherlock’s hair again, causing Sherlock to gasp loudly in surprise. John separated their lips slowly, causing Sherlock to stretch his lips up just to be able to taste them a second longer. Sherlock kept his eyes closed, settling his head back to the floor with a contented sigh.

“A bit not good?” John asked, stroking a thumb across Sherlock’s angular cheekbone in fascination. Sherlock opened his eyes, pupils wider and darker than John had ever seen them, and looked up at John’s face above him. His blond hair was a little scattered in opposite directions, his lips swollen, his cheeks flushed, and his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he looked down at Sherlock affectionately. Sherlock took pride in the fact that he was responsible for making John look so utterly debauched.

“A bit… Well, that was perfect, actually. Do it again.” Sherlock whispered, knowing John was close enough to hear him. John smiled, and the observant detective catalogued all the wrinkles and lines that made John’s smile absolutely radiant. John knew he was no Sherlock Holmes, but he tried to take a mental picture of the detective’s curls, spread out like a dark halo below him and complimenting plush pink lips and red cheeks. John rushed down again to claim Sherlock’s lips as his, and this time there was a new energy in the air about it.

Sherlock quickened the pace himself, actually kissing up into John above him as the soldier tugged at his hair with renewed authority. The detective whimpered with pleasure as the tug exposed his neck to John’s exploring lips. The blond moved his hands to Sherlock’s muscled chest, kissing his way down Sherlock’s jaw and sucking a mark into the perfectly soft skin of Sherlock’s neck. The detective moaned at the sensation of being claimed, and his hands moved from clutching John’s thighs to cupping John’s flexed arse where it was connected to his groin. He let his large hands linger there for a moment, gently massaging and pulling in the same rhythm John’s tongue was moving on his neck. Then his long fingers drifted up to the hem of John’s tank-top, a little damp with sweat and begging to be taken off. John chuckled lightly into Sherlock’s skin as the detective curled his fingers under the fabric and made contact with the small of John’s back.

The army captain broke his lips’ contact with Sherlock’s skin with a satisfying sucking sound and sat up. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows, hair sticking up every way possible, eyes wild with a combination of the want to take and give, his chest still glistening with sweat, heaving up and down in an effort to catch at least one breath. John’s smirk widened as he noticed the love bruises on Sherlock’s body, one where his jaw met his neck, one where his neck became his shoulder, and one in between. He dragged a finger over them with satisfaction, and he let the same finger continue its path down the length of the neverending body underneath him. Sherlock closed his eyes and threw his head back as a finger teased at his nipple for a moment before continuing down the muscles of his torso and hooking on the elastic waistband of his pajama pants.

“Christ, you are breathtaking,” John muttered on the breath of a deep exhale.

Sherlock straightened his arms in response to meet John’s lips, sealing them for a moment before breaking apart again.

“You are too, you know,” Sherlock expressed as he smiled at the man who had walked into his life all those years ago. He could see in John’s eyes the war, their meeting, all the cases, the tragedies they had suffered together, and through all of that the hope of love and love returned. And now, that hope was coming to a final fruition.

John hummed in reply as he unhooked his finger in favor of splaying his whole hand over the warmth of Sherlock’s lower abdomen. He had been able to feel Sherlock’s growing erection underneath him, and he was sure Sherlock could feel him too. Still, he hesitated, a natural precaution of so many years living in the doubt this would ever happen.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm, yes, John?” Sherlock replied as he threw his head back again, relaxing his body under John’s comforting touch. John rubbed his hand up and down the side of Sherlock’s ribcage before continuing.

“I have to ask. Are you sure?”

Sherlock snapped his head back up, causing his curls to fly forward before settling around his face again. His pale blue eyes took on their calculating stare as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why?” Sherlock responded, his deep baritone voice making John shiver.

“Well, it’s just,” John started as he sat back on his heels, allowing Sherlock to sit up a little straighter to face him. “It’s just… I’m pretty sure we’ve both been anticipating this, and I just want to make sure I don’t rush into something that you might not be comfortable with just ye-”

Sherlock cut him off by wrapping his arms around John’s strong shoulders and kissing him, instantly letting their tongues slide and dance in that familiar way Sherlock had begun to crave in the last minutes. Sherlock broke it quickly, bending their foreheads together so that the air they breathed was once again the same.

“Please,” Sherlock whispered into John’s mouth. “Please, John.”

“Okay,” John whispered back as he nodded his head. “Okay.” 

John moved the large hand that was on Sherlock’s side to the center of his chest and gently pushed his detective to the floor. Sherlock obeyed, slowly leaning back onto the carpet as John stayed upwards, not breaking eye contact. The look of John’s face was no longer a smile, but one of serious intent as Sherlock stared at him wide-eyed from below. The soldier brought himself up to his knees over Sherlock, and the detective’s nimble hands moved to stroke up and down the front of John’s thighs. 

The blond, still not breaking eye contact with the man below him, curled his fingers under the bottom of his white tank top and pulled the fabric over his head agonizingly slowly. Sherlock stared, cerulean blue eyes wide, as he pulled back his hands and used them to prop himself up again. In a single swift move, the taller man pulled his legs through the gap John created by going all the way up on his knees and folded them so he was sitting on the back of his heels. A tender, loving hand cupped John’s cheek as another moved to cover the scar tissue on John’ s left shoulder. John closed his eyes and let Sherlock touch him, giving his trust and his body over to the man who had saved it on multiple occasions. He let Sherlock love him. 

Sherlock just touched; he couldn’t get enough. He let one hand slide down John’s face to feel the tendons in his shoulder, another to touch the center of a firm abdomen. He let some fingers curl through the hairs that gathered in the center of John’s chest while the other snaked around John’s waist to stroke the interconnected muscles of the soldier’s back; so defined it made Sherlock dig the pads of his fingers harder into them as he stroked. John just closed his eyes and let Sherlock touch want he wanted, feel what he wanted to feel.

Sherlock turned his attention away from John’s body for a moment and back to his face. He moved closer and extended his legs, moving his hands up John’s chest as he surged up to John’s lips. The army doctor instantly parted his kiss swollen lips to let Sherlock gain access, and the detective took the opportunity to explore John’s mouth thoroughly with his tongue. Long arms were reaching over John’s shoulders, and graceful fingers were leaving faint scratch marks on his soldier’s back as strong arms wrapped around Sherlock’s delicate waist to pull the two men’s bodies flush against one another. Those hands then moved to cup Sherlock’s round arse through flannel pajama pants. 

“Bed, I think,” John said between breathless kisses. 

Sherlock’s response was shoving into John’s mouth harder, whimpering in desire and pleasure and a feeling deep in his gut he didn’t fully understand; he wanted to feel this way forever as long as it was with John - perfect, mythical, soldier John, who had claimed him and wanted him.

John only surged back, simultaneously gripping the back of Sherlock’s thighs and pulling up. Sherlock got the message quickly, helping John with wrapping his own long legs around the strong soldier’s middle. Then, John broke the kiss and, with a grunt, stood up with all Sherlock’s limbs wrapped around his muscled torso.

Sherlock could only gape at the feeling of toned muscles working under him, to lift him up and hold him closer. The feeling of their erections pressing against each other consumed most of Sherlock’s attention as he groaned and slightly ground his hips against John’s. His soldier clutched his thighs and arse, relishing in the much-needed friction. 

“Take me to bed,” Sherlock moaned quietly as his fingers played with the short, blonde hairs at the nape of John’s neck.

“Of course, anything,” John whispered reverently as his lips latched onto the closest piece of Sherlock, sucking an angry red mark into his sharp collarbone. Sherlock quivered in his strong arms, and John took that as his cue to walk towards the small hallway that would lead them to Sherlock’s bedroom.

The detective let out small gasps every time John took a step, which slid their erections together and only increased their pressing desire. John used one foot to kick open the cracked door as Sherlock returned his lips to John’s from above. From his height-advantage position, Sherlock kissed down into John’s mouth and groaned into the air between them when the soldier gripped his arse harder.

“Christ, Sherlock, your sounds just… God,” John gasped out between kisses, which only further encouraged Sherlock to let his body take over and experience the moment. He opened the floodgates of his mind, expecting to be overstimulated, but being intimate with John was enough to quiet the roaring waters as his senses were flooded with scents, sounds, feelings, and tastes.

In a swift, fluid motion, John turned around and collapsed onto the bed, fighting for dominance with Sherlock until he won and had the taller man gasping for breath underneath his strong body. John’s mouth reattached itself to the vulnerable skin of Sherlock’s neck, and it caused the detective to add more faint scratches to the already fading ones on John’s back. Sherlock still had his legs wrapped around John’s torso, unwilling to give up the friction of John rhythmically grinding their clothed erections together. He hooked his pale fingers on the waistband of John’s sweatpants and pulled down slowly.

“Off, please, John,” Sherlock managed to moan as the doctor reached one hand down Sherlock’s flannel pajama bottoms. “Everything. Off, I need-”

“What, Sherlock? What do you need?” John whispered into Sherlock’s skin, making the detective throw his head back onto the bed with a shudder. He continued to pull down John’s sweatpants, slowly, as his mind tried to catch up and form at least one thought to say out loud.

“You,” Sherlock keened as he grabbed the short hairs on the back of his soldier’s neck and crashed their lips together. They broke apart, gasping into each other’s mouths. “Inside me,” the detective whispered against John’s lips.

“Okay, okay. Sherlock, do you have-”

“Bottom drawer. Please,” the detective whined.

John moved sideways off Sherlock and walked to the other side of the bed where Sherlock’s nightstand was. He shed his sweatpants in the process, and Sherlock quickly followed suit by inching his way out of his own flannel pants and black boxer briefs.

Coming back around to the other side of the bed and seeing Sherlock laid across the top of the sheets waiting for him brought a seductive smirk to John’s face as he took the position of straddling his detective’s narrow hips again. He opened the bottle of lube, the sound being enough to make Sherlock shake and arch into John, chasing desperately needed friction. John only smirked and bent down to sloppily kiss the man under him while he grabbed a pillow from the the bed and put it under Sherlock’s full arse. He broke the kiss, panting, his erection aching and leaking with desire. 

“Sherlock, if you want me to stop at anyti-”

“Now, please,” the detective whined again, writhing and gasping as John took off his boxers, causing the two men’s erections to briefly make contact.

“So sensitive,” John purred as he practically attacked Sherlock’s neck again, leaving a bruise that would definitely linger. The doctor shifted himself so that they were chest to chest, his legs between Sherlock’s, but those limber legs quickly wrapped around his waist and tugged close; John gasped in a mix of surprise and pleasure. He finally poured the open lube onto his hand and teased the area around Sherlock’s hole, which only made the taller man groan and fist his fingers in the soldier’s hair.

“Christ, you are such a tease,” Sherlock managed, gasping and keening at every stimulation.

John’s lips closed around one of the detective’s nipples, causing him to arch his back and clench his jaw as a familiar tongue tasted all around the sensitive area. The detective allowed his hands to wander down John’s back, over the scratch marks made previously, and onto John’s toned arse.

“Well, I can’t help that you look absolutely gorgeous like this,” John moaned into Sherlock’s chest.

“For God’s sake, just- ah, John!”

Sherlock’s complaint was cut off by a finger entering him, then sliding in and out as the pleasures of John’s other hand moving up and down his length consumed him completely.

John continued to kiss around Sherlock’s chest as he stretched with one finger, then added a second, then a third, encouraged each time by a moaning Sherlock. By then, Sherlock was thrusting onto his fingers with anticipation, and John couldn’t contain his own groans of pleasure as he felt Sherlock stretch and pulse around his knuckles.

“Sherlock, I’m a doctor.”

“Mmm, yes, an army doctor,” the taller man replied breathlessly.

“Like the army bit, do you?” John teased as he curved his fingers, making Sherlock whimper. “Listen, I need to know if you are clean or if you want to use a condom.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yes to the clean part. No the condom part. I want-” Sherlock grabbed John’s neck hard and crashed their lips together. “You,” he said into John’s mouth. “All of you. Everything. Please,” Sherlock moaned as he ground their pelvises together in desperation.

“Please what?” John teased as he snaked a hand between them again to tug at Sherlock’s erection.

“Please, sir,” Sherlock growled as he tightened his legs around John’s waist and sucked a mark into his soldier’s neck.

The blond removed his fingers from his detective to grab the lube where it was sitting on the sheets next to them. He gritted his teeth as he slicked himself, breathing deeply as he took in the sight of Sherlock lying before him. The doctor double-checked the pillow was correctly positioned under Sherlock’s arse before pressing the head of his length slowly into Sherlock’s hole.

The taller man gasped at the sensation of John being inside of him, being able to feel John as he slowly pushed further into his tense body.

“Christ, Sherlock,” John gasped out as Sherlock tightened around him, the heat and pressure nearly overwhelming. The legs around his waist only tightened to bring John fully into the man under him, both groaning as John fully seated himself inside Sherlock’s tight heat. 

“Move, John,” Sherlock whined.

The blond chuckled and exhaled deeply, adjusting himself as sensations flooded him all at once.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered into Sherlock’s ear, making the detective quiver under his words.

Slowly, John began to move. Sherlock had never felt pleasure quite like it; John whispered, “beautiful, gorgeous, Christ, Sherlock,” as he thrust into the taller man, foreheads pressed together as if in reverent prayer. The blond handled Sherlock’s erection at the same rate, stroking rhythmically.

“There!” Sherlock yelled as John slammed into his prostate, causing his hands to tighten on John’s muscular arse as the soldier to thrust at the same angle again and again and again.

“Yes, yes, that’s it, Sherlock,” John encouraged, attaching his lips to Sherlock’s neck once more.

“John,” Sherlock sobbed. “So close. I’m- oh, John!”

The whole of Sherlock’s vision went white as he arched his back into his orgasm, stringing together the word John as if it were the only one in the whole solar system he knew. John followed almost immediately, all the muscles in his body tensing as he spent into Sherlock, who was still gasping through his own orgasm.

Then it was over, both men breathing heavily and bodies coated in a light sweat. The detective’s pale blue eyes looked up into John’s bright ones, and the soldier's lips pressed down lightly for a kiss that felt reverent, on another universal plane, the only one that mattered in the world. Sherlock sighed into it, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, and the doctor kissed each one as they sunk lower.

“One second,” John muttered as he pulled himself out from Sherlock and stood up. The detective instantly missed the weight of John’s body over him, but when he turned his head to the side to watch John head out the door, he got to catalogue in his mind palace every line and curve of John’s body - his shoulders, back, arse, and legs.

John looked down at Sherlock sleepily watching him and smiled as he headed towards the bathroom. He splashed his face with water before wetting a towel and coming back to bed.

“Here, let me,” John whispered as he kissed Sherlock’s temple, brushing away the detective’s lazy reaches for the cold towel. The doctor rubbed the towel over Sherlock’s midsection, cleaning up what had been spent there and then moving to clean some of the sweat pooling on Sherlock’s chest. He swiped a clean portion of the towel across Sherlock’s forehead and the shallow cut on the bridge of Sherlock’s nose, earning a hum of content in reply as he ran his other hand through soft, black curls.

“John?” Sherlock muttered as exhaustion continued its sweep over his body.

“Hm?” John hummed as he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s temple, pulling them both under the comforter that was folded at the end of Sherlock’s bed.

A small snore was the only answer to that question as Sherlock’s head rolled to the side on his pillow. John chuckled quietly to himself and curled his body around his sleeping detective. He pressed a small kiss to the back of Sherlock’s ear and let himself join Sherlock in the realm of sleep.

\------

Sherlock awoke to the feeling of lips on his ear, the nape of his neck, in his hair; feather light kisses not full of passion or lust, but tenderness and sunlight. The light sucking sounds increased as Sherlock chuckled, his deep baritone voice filling the spaces in the room that were not already claimed by lazy morning sunlight; it streamed in from the window and onto the two men on the bed. Their legs were intertwined, and the taller of the two reached behind him to touch the blond’s cheek.

“Good morning,” Sherlock muttered as the kisses continued.

A small hum was the reply as a strong arm wrapped around Sherlock’s middle and pulled them closer to each other. The taller man exhaled deeply as he wrapped his arms around where his soldier was holding him close - so close that he believed the warmth from John’s naked body alone could sustain the both of them if the thermostat went out. John stroked a thumb up and down Sherlock’s side where his hands were clasped around Sherlock’s middle, massaging the relaxed muscle and soft skin.

“Hey, Sherlock?” John asked between kisses, paying special attention to the soft muscles of the detective’s shoulder.

“Hm, yes, John?” Sherlock replied as he burrowed his back deeper into John’s chest in perfect satisfaction.

“You were going to ask me a question last night before you drifted off. Do you remember what it was?” the shorter man asked as Sherlock began to shift in his arms. He loosened his grip enough so Sherlock could turn around to face him, but as soon as the detective looked comfortable, he pulled them close again.

Sherlock initiated the kiss, lazily fitting his lips into his soldier’s while wrapping his arms around John’s midsection similarly. One of John’s calloused hands worked its way through Sherlock’s curls, while the detective slid his tongue lazily against John’s. He broke off the kiss after just a few moments and buried his head of curls into John’s shoulder. The blond rested his chin on top of those luscious curls while the other massaged up and down the taller man’s back, over the bumps of scars that he never questioned and Sherlock never mentioned. Sherlock chuckled again into John’s shoulder, right over the scar tissue; he brought a finger to it, stroking it gently as he replied to John’s earlier question.

“I think I was going to ask if you started that fight just to get me in bed.”

“You caught me,” John replied sarcastically. “This whole thing was just an endurance test. Which you passed with flying colours, by the way.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sherlock chuckled as he buried his nose into John’s shoulder; a blush crept up his neck and onto his cheeks. John continued to massage the base of Sherlock’s spine, releasing some of the tensions that were present from last night’s activities, as Sherlock breathed in and out into John’s skin.

“You know,” Sherlock exclaimed in words muffled into his soldier’s skin, “one of us is going to have to get up and make some tea.”

“Oh, fight me.”

“With pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to my main bro @dragonQuill907 for adding all of her amazing edits and making my writing 10 times better overall. Seriously, her writing is so amazing so please check out her fic and AMAZING one shots! Thanks for reading and as always comment and leave kudos!


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